Little Round Pills

This piece is just one in a ten-poem long memoir about my slow departure from the Christian faith, and the emotional turmoil that I experienced in the process. This poem marks the point at which I began taking medication for my insomnia and depression, both major factors in the aforementioned turmoil.

I stare at the bottles on the white porcelain sink- orange plastic bottles with childproof lids, filled with pills of powder-white and lilac to lull me to sleep and to wake me up again.

Is this wrong? Defying my own nature with something so clinical, so chemical as those little round pills?